


The Little Match Boy

by Carolus



Series: Før jeg brenner ned [1]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Absent Parents, Arson, Character Study, M/M, Pyromania, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, mentions of bipolar disorder, these tags are making it sound worse than it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 22:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13281183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carolus/pseuds/Carolus
Summary: In which Isak's inner struggles materialise in more ways than just insomnia and random bursts of violence directed at his friends.





	The Little Match Boy

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is. The fic answering the question nobody probably ever asked. What if Isak struggled with pyromania? A drabble that grew legs on it's own and turned into this 5k monster, fuelled by Hozier's "Arsonist Lullabye" (give me an award for not taking the title from that song), and a sudden art block.
> 
> A million thanks to my dear Varshi for betaing this for me <3
> 
> This fic contains a few references to some Norway-specific stuff that I wasn't able to explain in the fics itself. I'll leave a short explanation for some of them in the end notes.

**December 2005**

Isak is sitting in front of the fireplace watching the flames. The tip of his nose is just close enough to the glass door for the heat to be uncomfortable, but Isak is too absorbed in the view to feel the discomfort. He loves watching the flaming tongues in shades of red and orange, loves watching them eat into the wood with destructive power. Only when the last flicker has died is he able to tear his gaze away.

It’s like when he was even younger and playing with his cars, far too occupied with the task of moving the cars around on the carpet to notice the fact that today was yet another day without dinner on the table.

The firetruck was always his favourite, because Isak wanted to, and still wants become a firefighter when he grows older. He loves the fact that there is a job where he’ll not only get to face the flames every day, but also get treated like a hero by people who look up to him and praise him for how brave he is. One day Isak is going to become the best and bravest firefighter in all of Oslo, or maybe the entire Norway! He knows he is, because unlike other children he isn’t scared of fire at all, he’s even been given the task by Wenche (his teacher) to light the advent stake in the classroom every day. None of the other pupils had wanted to, seeing as they are scared of using the short matches. It’s a fear Isak doesn’t get, seeing as a burn from them is like getting bitten by a playful kitten. Nothing to fear as his dad has told him.

Now his dad is upstairs with his mum who is crying in the bathroom as usual. Isak doesn’t really mind, seeing as dad had had made sure to light the fireplace before he went upstairs, knowing that Isak finds the sight of the flames much more entertaining than any programme the telly can offer. He has promised Isak that when he’s older he’ll teach him how to light it himself, but for now Isak still has to wait till he gets home from work to do it for him. Keeping Isak from manning the fireplace himself has lead to many a tantrum. But either because, or despite the fact that Isak’s mum is crying and screaming so much already, his tears seem to have little effect on his father.

It’s mostly fine though. What dad doesn’t know is that Isak has managed to snatch a box of matches which he keeps up in his room, and that watching the hypnotising little flame as it’s eats its way through a page of Isak’s colouring book is enough to keep him occupied whenever Terje decides to stay the night somewhere else instead of going home to his sick wife and son.

 

**June 2014**

Isak doesn’t think he’s ever felt happiness like this before, and it’s _incredible_. It’s Sankthans and he, Jonas, Ingrid and Eva have taken the trip to Hvervenbukta in order to celebrate by the bonfire there. Ingrid’s brother drove, which means they didn’t have to smuggle the beer bottles on the bus for which Isak is glad. He has no doubt that the buzz from the alcohol is part of what’s making him feel this good. It makes it much easier to ignore the queasy feeling of jealousy seeing Jonas and Ingrid together is giving him. It’s a rather new feeling that has been sneaking up on him lately, and one that he’s not interested in exploring any further - mainly because he’s scared of what will happen if he allows himself to think more about it.

He’s roasting a marshmallow on one of the smaller bonfires scattered on the beach with the big one blazing in perfect view in front of him. It’s massive and made out of barrels - utterly gorgeous with the way it is saturating the water behind in hues of red and orange. Isak closes his eyes, allowing the pleasant combined warmth from the sun and various bonfires to wash over him. His eyes open to the sound of Eva’s giggling though, and he has to laugh when he realises that his marshmallow is on fire. Raising his eyebrows at Eva, he puts out the burning marshmallow in his beer-filled solo cup and sticks it into his mouth. It tastes gross, but the horror in Eva’s eyes definitely makes it worth it.

Finally getting it together after Isak’s gross show off, Eva throws her head back and bursts out in laughter. She’s beautiful when she laughs, auburn hair glinting in the sunlight and pearly whites on display. Standing up, she walks the short distance over to Isak, giving him her hand.

“Come on, let’s dance by the big fire!”

Had Isak been any less drunk or happy, he would have refused. He’s not much of a dancer when sober, much less now, and he doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself in front of Jonas and Ingrid. But in this minute, in this hour, the suggestion is the best he’s ever heard. He takes Eva’s hand with a smile, and together they make their way down to the other dancing people by the beach.

They stay at the beach till late in the morning, content to exploit the last of the light from a turning sun.

 

**July 2015**

It was Jonas who managed to get hold of the joint, and for once he seems just as excited as Isak is about lighting something up. Obviously Jonas might be slightly more interesting in what they’re setting fire to rather than the action of firing itself, but Isak can’t be bothered to care when it means he gets to see his two favourite things in the world interact. In fact, seeing Jonas excited face when he’s flicking the lighter he borrowed from Isak and lighting up his joint is enough to send a burst of arousal through Isak’s cock, making him flush. Not wanting the unwelcome feeling to spoilt this moment for him, Isak shifts in his place and grits his teeth, willing the feeling to go away. Being in love with one’s straight best friend sucks and Isak can’t believe he’s living such a cliche.

Luckily Jonas doesn’t seem to notice, having finally taken his first drag. He breathes in too deep though, and like most who’ve never smoked anything before, he ends up coughing painfully as a result.

“Bro, how on earth do you manage to take such deep drags without dying when smoking your cancer sticks? Aren’t cigarettes supposed to feel even worse?” Jonas asks, voice raw, as he hands Isak the joint.

Isak shrugs. He’s been smoking for so long now it feels like second nature, rush of nicotine a welcomed addition to the excitement of smelling the smoke and feeling it enter his lungs. Because he is a little brat though, he takes the joint and makes sure Jonas is looking when he takes a deep drag of the joint, humming in appreciation at the feeling. It makes Jonas flip him the bird before he snags the joint back, too stubborn to give up after one failed attempt.

Isak grins and lets him take the joint, focuses on the glowing tip instead. He can already feel the weed starting to affect him, feeling different to that of nicotine, but yet pleasant. However he’s not completely onboard with the smell, preferring the clean smell of ashes that cigarettes provide. He picks up the lighter from where Jonas put it on the floor, flicking it open and shut, admiring the little orange tongue peeking through, born from flint and gas. He suddenly has the urge to see them grow and looks around for something that could work as fodder. There isn’t much flammable left in his own bedroom, but Jonas has a stack of school books from 10th grade on his desk, and it seems like the perfect target.

Jonas’s cough sends him back to reality again, and Isak lets out a laugh. It’s fun being the best in something for once, even if it is something as self-destructive as filling his lungs with chemicals. He takes the joint from his fingers and puts it to his mouth.

“Hey bro. How about we celebrate the end of middle school with setting fire to your books?” Isak says once the smoke has left his lungs again.

Jonas’s eyes light up at the idea, a clear sign that whilst he’s failing badly at inhaling the smoke he’s still somehow managed to get some in his system. Stoned Jonas is much less rational than sober Jonas it seems, and Isak can appreciate that.

In the end they set fire to all but one of Jonas’s books in the grill on the balcony. It’s fun and lighthearted, and if Isak seems a little more eager than Jonas, then that’s not exactly a big deal.

 

**April 2016**

**Text to Jonas [21:23]**  
Jonas are you busy? I did something really stupid.

When Jonas arrives, the flames have almost subsided and only the charred skeleton body of what was once the Yakuzi gang’s pride and joy remains. The windows have all exploded, sooted glass shattered all over the ground around the bus like a black halo. Isak is observing the scene from the top of an empty gasoline can, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Coming down from his high he can also feel wetness in his boxers, but considering the jeans he’s wearing are dark, he doesn’t think Jonas will notice. He’s probably too busy absorbing the fact that his best friend has commited arson to notice anyways.

“What the fuck Isak? Please tell me you didn’t do this!” Jonas’s voice is a mix of desperation and fear, as if he’s begging Isak to give him an alternative explanation even though all evidence is pointed towards the fact that Isak did this.

“There was nobody inside. I made sure,” Isak mumbles. His high hasn’t subsided completely yet, but he has come down enough to feel the telltale signs of guilt lurking in the back of his mind, waiting to burst through.

“Well thank you for confirming that, because by now I wouldn’t be surprised if there was. This is serious Isak. This isn’t just your furniture or your school books, although admittedly I should have seen those as the warning signs they were. This is arson. You have a problem and need to get help.” Jonas says, tone marginally less desperate now that he knows that at least he hasn’t witnessed murder. His eyes are trying to catch Isak’s, but judging by the reflected flames in his friend’s pupils it’s an unsuccessful attempt.

Isak doesn’t reply. He knows that something is wrong with him, knows that he has just committed a crime that could land him in jail, or worse, an institution. But he’s just so tired of fighting it. Tired of attempting to quell the need with youtube videos of housefires, and bonfires at sankthans. At one point he had to give in, and he supposes this was it. The Riot Club vs. Yakuza rivalry giving him an excellent outlet and once the idea was there it seemed impossible to fight.

“Look. If you let me make an appointment with BUP for you I won’t make you report this. I’m not saying that the police won’t figure out that it was you anyways, but at least I won’t march down to the police station myself and report it. Do we have a deal?” Jonas says. He swallows and his eyes fly up to the sky as if asking a God he doesn’t even believe in for forgiveness.

Isak can feel his heart swell with fondness for his friend. His friend who cares enough to see beyond Isak’s actions and into the struggles behind. With effort he tears his gaze away from the wreck, meeting Jonas’s questioning eyes and giving him a small smile.

“Deal.”

 

**June 2016**

The office at the Children & Youth’s Psychiatric Polyclinic isn’t like in the films. With walls covered in childish posters and toys on the shelves it honestly reminds Isak more about a room in a kindergarten. Granted this is the social worker’s office and not a therapist’s, but based on how the hall seems decorated in similar fashion, Isak doesn’t think that makes much of a difference.

In front of him the social worker is speaking softly and with far too much pity for his liking, as if Isak is a scared child. Maybe if somebody had noticed his fucked up home situation earlier and brought him there then her tone would have the desired effect. Maybe they’d even manage to help so that he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. However, it is too late now, and as it is, her tone only serves to make Isak feel awkward and out of place. He has a problem with resisting the urge to set fire to stuff, not social anxiety or whatever she is going on about now.

Thank God for Jonas, who is sitting next to him on the admittedly comfortable red couch, speaking on his behalf. Jonas, who made the appointment with the school nurse that eventually landed them a meeting here, who has so far kept his promise of staying with Isak every step of the way. Isak can’t believe how on earth he managed to get such a great friend.

“You said you’re not living at home anymore, sweetie?” the social worker asks for the nth time, making Isak want to groan.

“No, as I said I am living in a collective flatshare. My father is supporting me financially and I’m also receiving student living allowance from Lånekassen. At 17, I am legally allowed to have a say in where I should live,” he replies, keeping his voice cool and disinterested. She must be used to deal with fucked kids so she can handle a little rudeness.

It’s easy to see that the social worker would much rather have this meeting with Isak and his parents, but fuck if she thinks that’s gonna happen. He’s read up on his rights on this, and he knows that she can’t force him if he doesn’t want to involve them. Thank fuck for that, because Isak would not be here if he had to sit through it with his parents at his side.

“Oh, well,” she says.

She continues to say something about how Isak might benefit from living in a more stable environment where he’ll have adult supervision, but Isak has already zoned out and trusts Jonas to do most of the talking for him as he’s done so far. This entire procedure is exhausting and by now Isak wants nothing than to get referred to a therapist so that he can get the fuck home and forget about it for a while.

Almost as if his subconscious is out to get him, his brain starts replaying a youtube video he saw of a guy creating green flames with the help of a boric acid. It’s a simple experiment really, one he’s also done himself in natural sciences in the beginning of the school year, but Isak still loves watching the flames as much as he did at six. The fact that this guy did it on a much larger scale, creating it in an old bathtub rather than the small glass dish they used at school only adds to the satisfaction. It feels fucked up to sit here at a psychiatric clinic fantasising about setting fire to stuff, but Isak can’t be bothered to care.

He’s ripped out of his fantasies when Jonas stands up. Presumably the meeting is over, so Isak stands as well, quietly taking the social worker’s hand as he mumbles goodbye. She covers his hand with hers and forces him to meet her eyes.

“Don’t be scared, honey. Being a teenager can be difficult and we’re gonna help you here,” she says, tone as mild as always.

Isak has to suppress a sigh. If this is how this facility operates - with soft spoken voices and vague promises of helping him to ‘sort his thoughts out’ he really wonders how they’re gonna be able to help him not accidentally kill somebody in arson.

Fuck, he needs a cigarette.

 

**August 2016**

“I really don’t think signing up for chemistry is a good idea Issy. Look, can’t you pick something else instead? You can take sociology with me instead,” Jonas’s voice is pleading and he’s blocking Isak’s pen from touching the paper of their elective subjects form.

Isak has to suppress a groan. As much as he appreciates the way Jonas had pushed him in the right direction to get him help to handle his _problem_ , he’s not a fan of his meddling.

“Look, I’m still going to the therapist they assigned me and I’m actually doing the homework he gives me after each session, even though it feels pointless and annoying. And it’s not like I’m only in it for the experiments, I do actually like science you know,” Isak replies, pointedly looking at the sheet where he’s signed up for physics, biology and maths already.

Jonas sighs, knowing that Isak is right. Instead, he pointedly erases the mark next to English lit. and puts it next to chemistry instead.

Isak has to swallow hard at that. He knows that Jonas isn’t making too big of a sacrifice when signing up for chemistry, that he’s been unsure about what to pick as his last elective subject the entire summer. But it stills annoys him that Jonas thinks he has to be Isak’s goddamn caretaker. Sure Isak has a problem with resisting the urge, but he’s not gonna set fire to the school if Jonas isn’t there to stop him, and he needs Jonas to understand that.

“Jonas, don’t. You’re my friend, not my babysitter. ”

He’s looking into Jonas’s eyes, and his best friend must see something there because he sighs and looks down at his form again, as if still weighing his decision. Isak decides to try a different approach when convincing him.

“It’s pretty arrogant to think that out of a teacher and 20 other students, you’ll be the only person able to stop me you know? I’m easily outnumbered if I were to do something stupid in the classroom, which mind you I never did when we were doing experiments last year,” he says, and he can see that Jonas knows he’s got a point.

“No, you just left once class was over to smoke half a packet of cigarettes,” Jonas mumbles in reply, but he sounds ready to give up the fight and listen to Isak.

“I promise I can see a bunsen burner without turning Oslo into Finsland 2.0,” Isak says, smiling at Jonas’s comment.

“Okay bro. I believe you.”

Jonas erases the checkmark again and puts it next to psychology instead, grinning. It makes Isak groan in exasperation.

“Fuck you.”

 

**October 2016**

The plastic chair at the police chamber is uncomfortable enough to make Isak twist in his seat, or maybe it’s just his nerves. He’s in a meeting room as opposed to an interrogation room as far as Isak can see, and he’s not even wearing handcuffs, so he really shouldn’t feel as terrified as he does. But he supposes getting determinedly led into a police car and driven here has left him rather shaken. Now he’s looking down in his lap, waiting for the police officer who led him here to reenter the room.

Finally, the officer comes back, carrying a tray with two glasses and a carafel which she sets down on the table before she takes sits down in the chair opposite Isak’s. She takes up a dictaphone and places it on the table in front of them. Asking him with her eyes if this is okay.

“I’m assuming I can trust you not to throw these at me?” she says, looking at the glasses and raising her eyebrows. Her tone is conversational, easy.

Isak shakes his head. He has no plans of making a run for it like he did earlier this month after Eva’s party. It was only a matter of time before he ended up here.

“You told me in the car that your name was Isak Valtersen and that you’re 17 years old. Can you confirm that for the record please?” she asks.

“Uhm, yes. My name is Isak Valtersen.” Isak hates how thin and vulnerable his voice sounds.

“Thank you Isak. My name is Renate and I am, as you’ve probably guessed, a police officer. Now in the car you told me that you don’t live with your parents anymore and that you don’t want me to call them. Is that still what you want?”

Isak nods shallowly.

“Fine. I’ll respect that for now. You’re sitting here because I caught you pouring gasoline over a park bench in Tøyenparken. Can you explain why you were doing that to me? Destroying property like that can land you a year in prison you know, and if it’s decided that there was a risk of putting others in danger it might be even more.”

His throat is clogging, and Isak has to clear it a couple of times before he manages. And even then his voice still wobbles when he speaks.

“I-I have a diagnosis. I didn’t mean to, but sometimes resisting the urge is so hard. I never want to hurt anybody and I made sure nobody was there!” He’s crying now, unable hold the tears back anymore.

Renate fishes out a packet of tissues from her pocket and hands one to Isak who accepts it with trembling hands.

“You say you have a diagnosis. Depending on what that diagnosis is and whether you’re getting treatment for it, that may help your circumstances. Your age and previously clean record will also help. Are you willing to talk to me about it?” Her tone isn’t exactly mild. But it’s calm and comforting in some way.

“Yes… j-just give me a second,” he says, attempting to control his voice again and subside his crying. Renate shoves one of the glasses towards him and he takes a small sip, hoping the water will wash away the hurtful lump in his throat. Finally he sucks in a shallow breath of air before continuing: “I have an impulse control disorder. I-It makes it hard to resist.”

“Resist what Isak?” Renate prompts, furrowing her brows.

“Putting things on fire,” he whispers. Suddenly, he feels exhausted. As if confessing had taken the last of his energy remaining from the high. His eyes flutter shut and he has to take a deep breath in order to clear the fog in his mind.

Renate nods. “Okay Isak, I can see that you’re very tired now and I think it’s best if we continue this another day. If you can write down your address and telephone number here so that we can get in contact with you to arrange a new meeting then that would be great. We can also give you a ride home if you want to,” she says, handing Isak her little notebook and a pencil like those you get at IKEA.

Isak nods mutely, taking the pencil and scrawling his number and address quietly while Renate stands up and calls somebody, presumably to get a patrol car to pick Isak up. After finishing the call she reaches for the dictaphone, but stops just before her finger hits the off-button.

“One last thing Isak. Have you done anything like this before that you’d like to confess?”

Isak swallows and shakes his head. It’s been 6 months since the bus incident and he has yet to hear anything. Yakuza miraculously - or maybe thanks to their incredibly deep pockets, managed to get themselves a new bus last minute. Even at Nissen the gossip surrounding the burnt bus has finally subsided. If Isak has any chance of getting away with it, he’s gonna take it. The secret will remain amongst Jonas, Isak and Trygve - his therapist - for now, because he wasn’t lying when he told Jonas that he was giving therapy a go.

“No, never.”

 

**November 2016**

Isak is fiddling with his letter in the chair, having been waiting for Trygve to bring it up ever since he entered his office. It’s how conversations between them usually go, Isak having confessed to feeling uncomfortable about bringing things up himself and preferring to answer the questions he’s asked. Trygve had reconciled after making Isak promise to try prompting him if there was something specific he wanted to talk about.

It’s worked surprisingly well for a while now, even though the only time Isak willingly brought something up was when opening up about Even. Not talking about him when he was what Isak was thinking about every waking hour had felt unbearable, so Isak had finally cracked and spent an entire session talking about Even like a lovesick schoolgirl, which he supposes is almost what he is anyway. Even became a regular conversation topic in their sessions after that.

The letter in Isak’s hands isn’t from Even, however. It’s from Oslo’s police department and even has their logo on the envelope. Eskild had raised his eyes when handing it over to Isak, silently asking for an explanation, but Isak had not complied.

“What is it that you’ve got there Isak?” Trygve finally asks after eyeing Isak’s nervous fiddling for a while. He always does that in the beginnings of their sessions - waits for Isak to bring something up by himself. It’s usually unsuccessful.

“It’s a letter. From the police department.” Isak swallows.

“Have you opened it?”

Isak shakes his head. “No. Not yet,” the fact that he’s terrified of what’s inside is left unspoken, but both he and Trygve knows that that’s the reason why the letter has been left unopened.

“Shall we open it now then? Do you know what it will be about?”

Isak shrugs. “Yeah, sure. I don’t really have a choice I guess. And I’m assuming it’s gonna be about the October incident,” he says wearily. The letter arrived two days ago, and Isak hasn’t been able to sleep since. There is no way Trygve won’t notice the bags under his eyes.

With a final sigh he rips open the envelope. The tear is uneven and nearly ends up splitting it in half, but the letter inside stays whole so Isak supposes it doesn’t matter. His eyes skim over the paper.

“...Due to several extenuating circumstances in your case, your punishment has been brought down to 12 hours of community service,” he reads, eyes wide. “I’m not gonna getting locked up?”

“I’m pretty sure I told you during another one of our sessions that cases like yours are usually handled without punishment, but there you have it in black and white. They’re giving you another chance.” Trygve smiles.

Isak returns the smile, but it dims fast.

“I bet they wouldn’t have been that benevolent had they known about the bus incident,” he mumbles, sighing.

Trygve shrugs. “Probably not no, considering you brought a lot of damage onto private property. Is this making you want to confess to that as well?”

Isak shakes his head and hates himself for it. He realises that part of him was probably hoping for a harsher punishment, so that he could feel like he was somehow paying for the bus thing as well, but the meagre 12 hours he will spend painting a fence or whatever is definitely not enough for that.

“Can’t you just, shut off the part of my brain that makes me do stupid stuff forever? Isn’t that what psychologists should be able to do?” He asks instead, attempting to lead Trygve away from their current painful topic.

Trygve raises his eyebrows, making it clear that he knows what Isak is doing, but he lets him get away with it for now. “You know just as well as I that that’s not how things work Isak,” he says, looking down to scribble something in his ever-present notebook.

Isak harrumphs. “I guess. Would have been nice though.”

Trygve looks up again. “Definitely,” he says, before continuing with a smile: “Would have left me out of a job pretty quickly though.”

 

 **February 2017**  

They’re chilling in bed after a frankly amazing round of sexcapades that has left Isak feeling sore in the best possible way. If only using his thigh muscles at the gym could be as fun as using them whilst riding Even then nobody would ever accuse Isak of skipping leg day.

It’s with childish competitiveness he allows himself to think that surely the sex he has with Even must be better than average. Maybe he should be more modest, but based on the sounds Even makes, he really thinks he might be some kind of blowjob master.

As if hearing his thoughts, Even grins at him - flashing his pointed canines. Isak returns his smile and leans forward to peck his lips. They’re close, but not completely touching. Happy to lazily bask in the afterglow together. Even closes his eyes, and Isak watches how the full lashes cast shadows over his boyfriend’s gorgeous face. It’s a face he’ll never get tired of seeing, a face he is content to wake up to every morning till the day he dies.

Right now Isak feels completely at ease, and he supposes that it’s that feeling of safety that makes him feel like this is a good time to bare his soul to Even. To tell him what’s he’s been wanting to say since December. Sure Isak’s confession will probably ruin the happy atmosphere. But Even deserves to know and it pains Isak to keep it from him. Especially when Even’s been so open to him about his own struggles in the aftermath of his episode.

Decision made, he gives himself a moment to collect himself before he clears his throat. It’s a weak sound, but it makes Even open his eyes again -- proving that he wasn’t falling asleep. He sends Isak another small, lazy smile which Isak is too nervous to return.

“Even. Can I tell you something?” Isak hates how nervous he sounds, hates the fact that he has reason to be nervous.

Even looks up, picking up on Isak’s sudden anxiousness, always the perceptive one. “Yes, of course Isak. What is it?” he says, frowning in concern.

“You know how you’re bipolar?”

The words have barely left his mouth before he can feel Even freeze up, just like Isak during his minute of planning had predicted he would. He hates being the reason for Even’s unease, especially since everything felt so good minutes ago. But the more time that passes, the more difficult will it be for Isak to tell him. Worst case scenario is that Even one day will find out when he has to pick Isak up from a police station after yet another incident. Would Even still be with him if he accidentally killed somebody? Hopefully not.

“I probably should have told you before, but you know how it is. It’s hard,” Isak swallows before continuing. “The thing is, feeling manic? I kinda get how it is, and not just in a superficial way the others try to ‘get it’.”

Looking into Even’s eyes is too hard, so he focuses somewhere on his bare chest instead. He can see in the taut tension of Even’s shoulder how uncomfortable he is, and a large part of him wants to drop it and try to take the words back. But he knows that he’s reached a point where he either goes all the way through with this, or risks losing Even. You don’t say something like that without continuing and expects people to be okay with it.

“The feeling of being both invincible and elated at the same time? And struggling to see how giving in to my impulses is wrong? I, uhm, I get the same feeling sometimes. When I set fire to something.”

Isak twists uncomfortable, the bed suddenly uncomfortable. He’s desperately wishing he didn’t have to have this conversation. Fuck, he’d give anything to not have to come out to his boyfriend as a pyromaniac, because if Even’s diagnosis is enough to warrant a label as psycho by some, Isak’s probably makes him fucking Hannibal Lecter or something.

“I’ve never hurt anybody - I don’t consider myself dangerous to others, and I’m in treatment. And as you probably can relate to, weed really messes with my impulse control, so I’m not really supposed to smoke green without Jonas. He knows about my, uhm, problem, and knows what to look for to keep me from doing something stupid whilst high. So it’s not necessarily for your sake that I’ve been reluctant to smoke since December. It’s for my own good as well.”

Unable to prolong it anymore, Isak finally lifts his eyes to gauge Even’s reaction. He’s not sure what he expected, probably either anger or something indecipherable, definitely something undeniably negative, but Even’s face shows neither. Instead his face is unbearably soft, and he’s looking at Isak with so much love and sadness that Isak almost wishes for the anger instead. How on earth can he look at Isak like that after Isak’s unforgivable reaction to his episode in December? Doesn’t he realise how fucking hypocritical Isak was being?

“Isak, I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. Just because you knew about me doesn’t give me any right to know about you, and just because you can relate doesn’t mean you weren’t allowed to get scared back then. Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it. Maybe we should both take a break from smoking for our respective mental health?”

Even’s voice is soft and sweet, and he rolls closer to Isak so that they are touching. Ignoring the tears that are blurring his vision, Isak throws his arms around his boyfriend’s skinny waist, hugging him tight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much for reading this! This is a piece I was very insecure about, so if you want to let me know what you think, I'll really appreciate that. 
> 
> As for the promised explanations:
> 
> Sankthans: Also known as Saint John's Eve or Midsummer. In Norway and most of Scandinavia it is generally celebrated with bonfires and festivities across the country.
> 
> Finsland: In 1978 a pyromaniac set fire to 9 buildings in a small southern town called Finsland in the span of a month. When identified, it turned out that the arsonist was the 21 year old son of the fire constable.
> 
> BUP aka Barne- og ungdomspsykiatrisk poliklinikk: The branch of Norwegian mental health care aimed at children and youth. They have facilities all over the country and collaborate with other facilities. In order to become a patient there, you need a referral from your doctor, your school nurse or a social worker. Whilst probably not the only offer for struggling youth, BUP is the biggest and the one I have experience with.
> 
> Feel free to ask in the comment section if you're still confused about something. I don't bite.


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